The Brooklyn Alphabet

As some of you know, I spent much of the summer of 2002 traveling around New Jersey reviewing all the minor league parks in the state for an enterprise piece I did for the Courier News.

And when the story came out the following May, well, let's just say Somerset Patriots owner Steve Kalafer was none-to-pleased with his ballpark being ranked fourth of eight -- as he showed by pulling about $250,000 worth of advertising and writing a letter to the editor, ripping me.

Anyway, four years later, I finally had a chance to check out another minor league stadium, a park I had been meaning to get to since it opened six years ago.

Jersey Girl and I made the trip into Brooklyn on Monday evening to take in the Cyclones game at Keyspan Park vs. the Staten Island Yankees (I'm sure she will blog about the trip, too, so forgive us if we duplicate).

The park is great. It's on Coney Island, right on the boardwalk, a stone's-throw from Astroland, which features the world famous Cyclone, the roller-coaster from which the Mets' NY Penn League affiliate (A ball) got its name.

Among the great features of the ballpark is the famous Coney Island parachute jump tower, which is just beyond the right field fence, the lone landmark remaining from the old Steeple Chase.

It was Hawaiian night at Keyspan Park, with former Mets left-hander Sid Fernandez on hand to throw out the first pitch.

As a Mets fan, the game itself was stench. Very sloppy. Plus Jersey Girl kept smacking me because I couldn't control my potty mouth around the young children. So that was not very pleasant. To her credit, however, she did atone later in the evening with a fantastic Spike From Bensonhurst reference (fucking A!). I didn't think there was anyone left who still remembered that flick!

Also, Cyclones pitcher Tobi Stoner -- my new favorite sports name -- did not make an appearance, and neither did Mets catcher Ramon Castro, who was supposed to be in Brooklyn on a rehab assignment.

The Cyclones took a 4-1 lead after an inning, but by the time the third inning had concluded, nearly an hour and a half later, they trailed 9-6.

The game ended with a 21-6 Staten Island victory.

Much like the disaster I experienced a few years ago when I trekked down to Philly to see Guns n' Roses, only to have Axl not show up and a riot ensuing, at least there was a bench-clearing brawl in the top of the ninth inning to somewhat satisfy me.

All in all, despite the outcome, I had a great time, and was very impressed with the operation. I recommend you all make the trip if you can.

In other news, the Local Shill's engagement party was held Saturday in Freehold, and a nice group of clowns were on hand.

Joe Pendleton and family, Jersey Girl, Todd A, The Professor, as well as several other luminaries were present to celebrate the Local Shill's impending nuptials.

Perhaps the most impressive part of the festivities was the pool shed, which was stocked to the max with beverages, both alcoholic and benign. We all enjoyed it.

We were also able to head into the house at 7 p.m. to watch the ceremonies at Shea Stadium honoring the 1986 Mets World Championship. A very emotional thing for me, since my life pretty much peaked that season.

Every member of the Mets 1986 team was on hand, including coaches Bill Robinson and Bud Harrelson. The only cats missing were manager Davey Johnson, who is coaching some junior Olympic squad; Roger McDowell, who is the pitching coach for the Atlanta Braves; Lee Mazzilli, who is the bench coach for the Yankees; World Series MVP Ray Knight, who had some speaking engagement he supposedly couldn't get out of; and Dwight Gooden, because he's in fucking jail.

After victories Saturday night, and again Sunday, the Mets completed their much-needed series sweep over Colorado and are rolling once again.

Sunday's news that Tom Glavine might be done for the season with a possible blood blot in his pitching arm did put a damper on an otherwise enjoyable weekend. If that happens, we can pretty much forget about a championship, and possibly even a World Series appearance.

Speaking of bad news, the fucking Yankees swept five from Boston over the weekend and Monday afternoon, in sometimes dominant fashion. But I blame Sunday night's extra-inning loss to manager Terry Francona.

After a leadoff double by David Ortiz, and an intentional walk to Manny Ramirez, the Red Sox had runners on first and second with no outs in the bottom of the ninth against Mariano Rivera.

Why Francona didn't immediately pinch-run for Ortiz, is beyond me. It is a managerial miscue of Grady Little proportions, and Francona deserves to be locked in a small room with Wayne Tillman for three hours as penance for his crime.

Of course, Ortiz was promptly gunned down at third base on Mike Lowell's ensuing bunt, which was followed by a passed ball that would have plated the winning run. As it was, the Yankees got out of it and scored three in the 10th, and held on to win.

The only positive to come out of Sunday night was that I bought my poker winnings for the month over the $4,000 mark, as I took down just over $1,000 during a Sunday night/Monday morning cash-game session in Montclair.

I love that game!

Denis hearts Mel

Denis Leary, doing a guest spot in the Red Sox broadcast booth, had a few things to say about Mel Gibson, in regard to Boston's Jewish first baseman, Kevin Youkilis.

Check it out

RETURN OF THE KING

While the last two weeks of July and the first week of August were pretty dull in my world, things have definitely picked up.

On Tuesday, Aug. 8, after spending the morning and much of the afternoon in my office in Brooklyn, NY, I returned to Jersey, picked up my father in Union, and headed back into the Empire State, through downtown Manhattan, over the Williamsburg Bridge, down the BQE, over to the Grand Central Parkway, and arrived at the holy of holies in Flushing at around 6:00 p.m.

By the time we parked and made our way into the stadium, we had plenty of time to relax and grab a bite to eat before heading to our seats to prepare to witness the return of Michael Joseph Piazza to Shea Stadium.

As I was waiting for my dad outside the men's room on the loge level near Section 6, I was wondering who I would run into that evening. I always seem to run into someone I know whenever I go to Shea, and as I was pondering that very though, the Local Shill emerged from the bathroom, trailed by Rich DeMarco.

After exchanging greetings and discussing the validity of the Mike Piazza-Sam Champion urban legend, I found out the Shill and DeMarco were sitting about seven row behind us -- with their fathers -- in Section 2 of the Loge Level, right behind home plate.

I wonder if they paid as much for their seats as I paid for mine (Stubhub.com rocks!)

Anyway, as Mikey made his way out to left field to warm up, the first of several standing ovations washed through the crowd, the second coming soon after, when the lineups were announced. As he completed his warmups and headed back toward the Padres dugout, the Mets presented a moving video tribute to him, on Diamond Vision, which he stopped to watch along the left-field line.

As the video concluded, and I wiped the tears from my eyes, Piazza received another standing ovation, this one longer than the previous two, as he tipped his helmet and ducked into the dugout.

Soon it was game time. Steve Trachsel vs. Woody Williams. I was kind of hoping the Pads would get a man on in the first inning, just so we could get to Piazza's first AB quicker, but that wasn't to be, as Trachsel retired the side in order.

After the Mets recorded their final out in the bottom of the frame, I turned around and asked the Shill and DeMarco for an over-under on the standing ovation Piazza would be receiving. Rich said "30 seconds," I told him I thought it would be closer to a minute.

As Piazza came to the plate, Shea Stadium erupted. The ovation lasted almost a minute and a half and Piazza had to step out and tip his helmet three times.

The he struck out.

Mikey finished 1-for-4, singling to chase Trachsel in the sixth inning.

He hit two homers the next night. That I watched on TV.

Saturday was another red-letter day in the life of the Sandman.

The underground poker club I frequent in Montclair was holding a freeroll tournament (meaning no entry fee) to celebrate its first anniversary. The prizes were $1,000 for the top three finishers.When we decided to split up the prize money with six of the 68 players left, I was the big stack and took home $800 (the other five players took down $400 each, with the balance going to tip the dealers).

It was my biggest tournament victory to date.

Good times.

Your gotta love Ted

During a recent interview with metal guitar God Ted Nugent, a noted bow hunter, by a French journalist, he was asked, "What do you think the last thought is in the head of a deer before you shoot it?
Is it, 'Are you my friend?' or maybe 'Are you the one who killed my brother?'"
Nugent replied, "They aren't capable of that kind of thinking. All they care about is, 'What am I going to eat next? Who am I going to screw next? and, can I run fast enough to get away?' They are very much like the French in that way."

Something to ponder

Someone sent this riddle to me. I think it should hit home with this crowd.


Q: You are on a horse, galloping at a constant speed. On your right side is a sharp drop off, and on your left side is an elephant traveling at the same speed as you. Directly in front of you is a galloping kangaroo, and your horse is unable to overtake it. Behind you is a lion running at the same speed as you and the Kangaroo.
What must you do to safely get out of this highly dangerous situation?

A: Get your drunk ass off the merry-go-round!

Yawn

After a week's vacation where the only thing resembling fun was a Friday-Saturday stay in Atlantic City (a profitable couple of sessions at the Borgata's poker tables), I have returned to the hell that is the waitering staffing business this week and I have absolutely nothing to report.

Hopefully, tomorrow evening will pull me out of my rut.

As most of you know, Pete's in town, and Todd, myself and a few others will be making the trip to Hoboken to bang down a few tastes with the man who deserted the Garden State for the Colorado Rocky Mountain sky.

After Hoboken, the plan is to head into NYC to the Mecca of 80's music, the Culture Club, and meet up with my friend, Christine, who is in town from Wichita, KS (another fool who has abandoned her Jersey roots).

After Sunday morning's softball tilt, I will spend the rest of the day lamenting the fact I will be missing Sunday night's Poison/Cinderella/Slaughter engagement at PNC.

I cannot believe I couldn't find anyone else who wanted to see this show.

You people all suck!